


Firestorm

by Katlyn1948



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, Modern Era, Other, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 23:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlyn1948/pseuds/Katlyn1948
Summary: London, World War IIArya received her letter for evacuation while Gendry receives his to serve.A confession leaves a lot of unanswered questions and one blissful night before one of the deadliest air strikes in history.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Rickon Stark, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Firestorm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TO EVERYONE](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=TO+EVERYONE).

> So...yeah. 
> 
> I had to split this up into two parts. 
> 
> The first is about family dynamics in the middle of a war while the next part will be about Arya and Gendry. I didn't get this up sooner because some issues have arisen, but writing is a good distraction. I hope to get the next part up on Wednesday or Thursday. 
> 
> I just want to say thank you to everyone that follows me on Tumblr that have sent their love and support of what transpired this weekend. I truly appreciate all the kind words and spiritual hugs. I hope you enjoy reading the first part. It is funny and witty. It is a good part to read before the true emotions and action happen!

Firestorm

_September 3rd, 1939 _

The soft buzz of static radiated throughout the room as the Stark family gathered around console radio. It was a large thing with a square body with a rounded top. Sir Eddard Stark had bought the monster just a few months prior in order to keep up with the wartime effort. His wife, Mrs. Catelyn Stark, thought it a waste of money, distracting the young children from their schoolwork. For the most part, she had been right.

Bran and Rickon would come bounding through the door, tossing their school satchels to side to catch their favorite afterschool program before their mother would return from whatever gossip circle she had attended. It was a welcome distraction to what was going on in the other parts of the world around them.

Sansa had not cared for the thing and Arya thought it interesting.

She had not seen an object so shiny and mystifying in her life. Often, she would sneak away from her mother’s teatime to listen to the radio shows that her younger brothers would commonly speak about. They were crude, rambunctious, and definitely not meant for a young woman’s ears, but Arya had been used to such humor. Her brother and cousin out aged her by five years and their conversations with other men their age would turn quite dirty on occasions.

Her mother would chastised her for frolicking with the older men, but she found it pleasing.

Robb and Jon had not minded their little sister tagging along; so long as she minded her business and didn’t insert herself in things, she did not know about. Theon, Robb’s longtime friend would often tease her for playing with the ‘big boys’ while Gendry, Jon’s best mate, would protect her from his snarky remarks.

She had much more in common with them then she did with the other girls her age and enjoyed their company, but when she began to develop hips and breasts, her mother was quick to put a stop to her outings.

Arya hated teatime and gossip. She was convinced it was a punishment strictly meant for her alone. Her sister reveled in her disposition, causing friction within their relationship and Arya would often tease Sansa about her lack of social interests aside from the boring conversations with other prima donnas.

That day was no different.

They were bickering, and had been the whole way home from school. Arya had tried to convince Sansa that there were more important things than what dress she would wear to the end of year gathering. Sansa of course called Arya a prude and stomped off ahead of her, leaving Arya to snicker with laughter behind her.

Now the laughter had ceased and there was only the radio with its disembodied voice announcing the one thing that sank the heart of millions across London.

“_On this day, the 3rd of September, 1939, the United Kingdom has formally declared war against that of Germany. Parliament has enacted the National Service Act, conscripting all men between the ages of 18 to 41, with some exemptions…”_

The sobs from her mother were piercing, while the fear across her sister’s face echoed that of hers.

Arya new what this news meant.

Father, Robb, Jon, Theon…and Gendry would have to fight in this bloody war. 

_29th December 1940_

The tiniest sliver of daylight had escaped the blackened curtains, shining through the small crack directly onto Arya’s face. The warm heat from the sun’s rays were welcoming and ushered in yet a new day in this war that had taken nearly everyone Arya held close to her heart.

She cracked open her eyes, squinting at the piercing light and quickly rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She pulled herself up and glanced over to the form of her sleeping sister. Since the war, their mother had insisted that they share a room, ensuring that the other was safe, but Arya believed it was to keep her from sneaking out after curfew.

Sansa was a notoriously light sleeper and even the tiniest creak of a floorboard would wake her.

Arya pushed her duvet from her body and slipped out of her bed, wincing at the sudden shock of the cold floor upon her feet. Heat was scarce these days, due to rationing, and the luxury of such amenities was something that her mother could hardly afford. They barley had enough to stay in the house, not to mention food for five people, so things like gas for heat, or even the automobile her father had bought months before the war were not important.

Their mother had to sell a few of their fancy things just to be able to make ends meet.

Luckily, the extra shifts at the factory her mother had been working at helped offset the costs.

It was strange seeing her mother work. For as long as Arya could remember, she always saw her mother tend to the house or host important guests from her father’s work, never once had she seen her mother lift a finger to willingly work with dirt and grim. But this was war time and the factories needed workers. The only ones left to do it were able-bodied women, no matter what class they belonged.

Arya sighed as she sat upon the edge of her bed. Sansa looked so serene sleeping under the layers of duvets. There were times were Arya would climb into her sister’s bed just to stay warm at night, cuddling against her back, basking in the warmth her body emitted.

She felt almost guilty for having to wake her from her peaceful slumber. Almost.

Grabbing her nearby pillow, Arya chucked it across their room, hitting Sansa square in the head.

“Wake up. Mother has already left, and we have to get the boys ready.” Arya groaned as she stood fully, stretching her aching muscles.

Sansa let out an audible yawn as she popped her head from under her duvets, “Do we have to? It’s our last day in London, can we just enjoy it?”

“You sound like me,” Arya smiled, “But, no, we cannot. We have to pack and Bran and Rickon cannot do it themselves.”

Sansa scoffed, “Bran is perfectly capable of packing is own trunk. He has a broken leg, not a broken back. And Rickon…well, he will need our help.”

Arya nodded, “Right and we have to pack our own things. I want to finish before noon.”

She dared a glance over to Sansa and saw the knowing look in her sister’s eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t leave without saying goodbye and the only time I’ll be able to see him is right when his shift ends at the coal factory.”

Sansa sighed, “Mother will not allow it. If she finds out—”

“She won’t find out...because you won’t tell her.” Arya shuffled her way to her sister’s bed, taking a seat on the edge. “Make up something...I’ve gone to the library or to the market place...something!”

“Arya, I cannot lie to mother, it’s near impossible. She knows when something is amiss and she’ll see right through me. Besides, all the libraries have burnt to the ground.”

“Not Cambridge.”

“In last week’s raids.”

“Harrington?”

“Two months ago.”

“Mmh...Citadel?”

“That...well I think that one is still standing.”

Arya smiled, “Perfect. After we pack and we get Bran and Rickon situated, I’ll take a trip to The Citadel.”

Sansa groaned, “You’ll be the death of me, Arya Stark.”

“No, this bloody war will be.” Arya gave a quick pat on Sansa’s leg and shuffled out of their bedroom.

The house creaked with chills as Arya made her way to the shared bathroom her and Sansa used. The boys were still tucked away in their bedroom, warm under their duvets. There were times when Arya wished that the outcome of certain circumstances where different. Since the war, hundreds of thousands of men, women and children have died, her brother and father included.

When the conscription occurred her father and brother, along with Jon, Theon and Gendry had make their way to the registrar’s office to sign up to fight for their country.

Months went by and neither of them had received the letter.

That is until the New Year rolled around.

Eddard Stark was the first to be dispatched to some part of Germany undisclosed to them. With a week, Robb and Jon had both received their assignments and Theon was not far behind. The only left was Gendry, a low class bastard boy with only two cents to his name. Arya was sure that his letter would follow shortly after Theon’s, but it never came. There was some sense of relief that at least he was safe, but the worry she had for her father and siblings was insurmountable.

It was like this cloud of darkness hovered over her and her remaining family, just waiting to unleash the deadliest of tempest upon them.

On the evening of the 19th of June came her worst nightmare.

A solider at the door holding, not one, but two letter of condolences from the Prime Minister himself. One was for her brother Robb, his plane crashing somewhere in the middle of the ocean, and one for her father, a bomb mangling him beyond recognition. The only identifiable item were his tags of service.

Her mother wailed for days, clutching at her heart, trying to find some way to live beyond that night. Sansa’s soft sobs were echoed throughout the house and her brothers grieved in their own ways.

Arya had shut down. She didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, she had nothing left within her.

Her daily life was that of routine.

She woke, helped Sansa prepare what breakfast they could find, assisted with her brothers and make her way to the market with whatever money her mother would leave behind. It was mundane and that of a girl who truly was no one.

It wasn’t until a simple trip to the market place began her process of healing.

She hadn’t seen Gendry in months, yet there he was unmistakable as ever. His hair was shaved down, no doubt for the military and his clothes were covered in soot. He’d been working at the coal factory making wages to live his life. Even when Arya had meet him when she was 10, he was working the factory. It was a miracle that Robb and Jon even became his friend, for he only had an education of that of a 7 year old. But he was humble and kind, and had gotten her brothers out of tough binds, bonding them for life.

He was haggling with a street merchant for a loaf of bread, but by the looks of it, the street merchant wasn’t breaking. She had a few coins left over from her haul and was more than happy to help with the situation. It helped ease the tension that was rising and Gendry was truly grateful for the help.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said to him.

“Let me help you.” He replied.

He had carried her bags all the way to her front door, setting them down gently on the front patio.

Since then, she had made it a point to meet him every day in the market right after his shift, whether it be him walking her to her door, or to talk their minds off about anything than the war around them; a welcome distraction allowed Arya to heal the wounds that the war had already caused.

Shaking her head of the memory, she splashed cold water of her face, fully waking her from the slumber of last night. Shuffling out of her robe and night shift, Arya tugged on her work dress, securing the waist with a thing belt. She pinned her unruly hair from her face and slipped on the brown leather loafers her mother had gotten her just before the new school year approached. Her stockings laid upon the sink side table and all Arya could do was grimace. She hated wearing the torture device and cursed the person who invented such atrocities.

They were uncomfortable and unnecessary and she never understood the purpose behind them.

Giving herself a once over in the mirror before her, she nodded in liking and exited the bathroom, letting an annoyed Sansa in.

“It’s about time. I’ve been waiting to take a piss.” She scowled.

Arya shrugged, “Oh come off it! Just get ready and help me with breakfast. I’ll get the boys up.”

Sansa stocked off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Arya chuckled and cross the hallway to where her brothers were sleeping. Bran would be easy to wake, but Rickon proved difficult. Often times, Arya would have to dump ice-cold water of his head just to rile him up from slumber.

“What took you so long?” Bran scoffed as Arya pushed their bedroom door open.

“You know, I don’t have to help you. I could just let you fend for yourself.” She hummed.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Bran challenged.

Arya smirked, “Try me. You may be near a head taller than me, but I’m quicker and will knock your arse straight on the floor.”

“That’s not fair; I have a broken leg and a sprained foot.” He whined.

“Well whose fault was that? Mother told you plenty of times not the climb the banisters, yet you did, causing your misfortunes.”

Arya glided towards her brother’s bed and pulled the duvet from his body. The sudden chill of the air sent gooseflesh all along his exposed skin, causing him to shiver.

“My god, it’s cold!” He huffed as he outstretched his hands for Arya to grasp.

With a quick pull, Bran was upright and Arya was gathering his clothes for the day.

“Well when it’s near freezing outside and we have no heat, then yes, it will get quite cold. Now come one, I don’t have all day. I have to help you get dressed and packed and try to get Rickon up all before noon.” She chastised.

“I can get dressed myself, you know. I’m not a kid.” He said matter of fact.

He was right, Bran was just two years younger than Arya and was more than capable of dressing himself, but with a broken leg and bad foot, Arya was sure that he would topple over when he tried to shuffle his trousers over his cast.

“I know that, but if you fall then mother will blame me for not helping. So, please let’s hurry.” She gestured for him to stand and he managed the best as he could while Arya gathered his clothes. She tossed his shirt and sweater vest his way, allowing him to pull the garments over his head himself.

She walked over to him as he leaned on his bedpost, trying his best of shimmy out of his pajama bottoms. Arya chuckled at her brothers misadventures and strides to where he stood, helping him clothe.

Sansa joins the room as Arya his helping Bran into his trousers, quickly buckling them in place.

“Is he up?” Sansa asks as she points to the sleeping red head boy in the next bed over.

Arya scoffed, “What do you think?”

Sansa gave a curt nod, “Right, well I suppose there is only one way to do this.” She turns on her heel and exits the room as quickly as she entered, returning just a few short minutes later.

Arya is already trying to suppress a laugh while Bran looks on, shaking his head at his little brother.

In her had was a pot of cold water ready to pour on top of his head, “Rickon, I know you’re awake, so please save me the trouble of having to pour this on your bed. I’d rather not explain to mother why your mattress is drying on the front patio.”

Rickon shot straight up from his bed, rubbing his eyes in the process, “I’m up, I’m up.”

Sansa’s lips curved into a smug smile as she beamed with pride. There weren’t many times when she could out best their little brother, but whenever she did, Sansa would gloat the entire day if given the opportunity.

“Lovely.” Arya watched as Sansa turned in her direction. “There is a pot of potatoes boiling for breakfast and the toast is already set out.”

Arya nodded, “We will be down in a few. I have to help this one--,” she pointed towards Bran, “—down the stairs.”

Sansa gave a quick nod before turning on her heel and exiting the small bedroom. Rickon was in the corner, pulling his sweater over his head, messing his hair in the process. He hobbled on one foot while the other was sliding into the leg of the slacks Arya had laid out for him to wear the night prior.

“Be careful, we don’t need two of you with broken legs.” She chastised as he stumbled over his own feet.

“I’m always careful.” He smiled.

Arya chuckled as she passed the smiling boy, grasping onto Bran’s arm in order to stabilize him.

Their way down the stairs was sloppy, but effective. Arya had time to perfect their maneuvers, considering she had to do it every day for the last three months. He still had a couple of more week left in the cast, according to the doctor that came by every other week to see him, and Arya couldn’t wait to be free of the physical work. If she had a say in the matter, then Bran would have remained in his bed for the entirety of the day, with only a few bathroom breaks. Her mother nearly chocked when she mentioned such things.

Once Bran was placed firmly on the floor below, Arya left him to fetch his crutch so that she could be free to move about the house without having to worry about him.

He was a perceptive kid and could hobble from place to place when need be.

Arya shuffled quickly to the kitchen and began placing the plates upon the table. Sansa was preoccupied with the boiling potatoes and making sure, they were cooked to perfection before serving.

“Are those the last of the potatoes?” Arya asked as she finished placing the silverware.

Sansa nodded, “Yes, mother wanted them gone before we left. It’s be a waste of her if there were six potatoes left for just one person.”

Arya filled several glasses of water and placed them on the table, with Bran sipping his as soon as it hit the smooth wood. Rickon bounced down the stairs just as Sansa was depositing one potatoes on each of their plates.

“Potatoes again?” Rickon whined.

“Yes, again.” Sansa chimed. “They are good for you. Now eat up.”

Rickon grumbled as he stabbed is fork into the soft flesh of the vegetable. “Do we at least have salt this time?”

“Rickon when have we ever had salt? Since this war broke out, we are lucky if we get the damned potato itself!” Arya huffed in frustration. She would never admit it openly, but she was sick of eating potatoes. It was the only thing they had for breakfast in the last month and the same constant taste began to bore her palate. Of course, she was grateful that she had something to eat, for there were plenty of people who did not have so much as a crumb of bread.

Their lunch and dinners were quite modest as well.

Whenever her mother would leave the money for her to go the market, it was always the same items on the list. Cans of beans, stocks of celery, potatoes, and a pound of meat (if they had it). Their mother would come home and make the same soup, always preserving a little left over incase their rations dwindled.

It was difficult to adjust to such rations and often made Arya wonder what those who already had so little were doing just to make it through the day. She wondered about her friend, the butcher’s boy, who relied on outsourced goods to keep their business going or about the little girl, her sister used to watch when her mother would work double shifts at the factory. They barley had two pennies to rub together before the war started, and now she was sure they were dead.

But the worst of the what this war had to offer were the mandatory curfews and blackouts. Not a single light could be on after dark. Curtains were provided to block the ambient light, making the streets of London look desolate. Eating by candle light had provided issues and there was a time that Rickon nearly set the whole house on fire with his carelessness.

That’s why, when morning came, Arya would be the first up.

She wanted to bask in the sunlight and enjoy the hours of normalcy before having to cower in the shadows come night.

The market trips was only reprieve she had, so when her mother had abruptly stopped asking her to do this simple request, it nagged at her inner being. That was her time to spend outside with Gendry, her time to feel like a normal girl again. 

“Are you packed?” She asked Rickon who had given her a scowl at her earlier outburst.

He nodded his head, not meeting her eyes.

“And what about Bran? Did you help him pack?”

Another nod.

“So you are all set to head to the train station come tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” It was a quick response that left matters solidified.

The rest of the family remained quite as they munched at their bland potato.

Most mornings consisted of the same old routine and this one was much the same. They would eat, read, and play a few games. Then Arya would head to the market, while Sansa watched the younger siblings. Then when Arya returned home, usually with Gendry at her tails, their mother would be coming through the door just a few hours later. The only difference was that instead of heading to the market to meet with Gendry, Arya would sneak to the coal factory where he worked. She was sure her mother had eyes at the market, so if she risked meeting him there then her mother would know before she even got home.

“When do you plan on going to the library?” Sansa questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Arya cleared her throat, glancing between Bran and Rickon to see if they were aware of the sudden change in plans, “As soon as breakfast is cleaned up.”

“The library? Why would you go to the library?” Bran suddenly chirped.

Arya cursed under her breath and tried to think of a good excuse to sway her brother in another direction. She could be sure that Sansa would at least try to keep her secret, but Bran was a differently matter entirely. If he wanted to rat her out then he would, unless there was something in if for him.

“Does there have to be a reason to go to the library?” Arya countered.

Bran shrugged, “I suppose not…but aren’t most of the libraries burned to the ground from all the air raids?”

“Not all of them. The Citadel is still standing, last I heard. I want to be able to take a piece of London with me, that’s all.” She assured.

“And you plan on stealing a book from the library?”

“More like borrow…” She shrugged.

Bran nodded, and then his eyes went wide, “Wait! The Citadel is on the same side of town as the coal factory. You’re going to see Gendry.”

Arya groaned, “Name it, whatever it is, that will keep you quiet.”

“When we get to the host’s house. You do my chores for a month.” He smirked.

“Deal, no shake on it.” Arya outstretched her hand for him to grasp. Bran had a smug smile as he spit into the palm of his hand, clasping it tightly with hers.

“Deal.”


End file.
